The Angel's Lullaby
by Moojuice Nne of the Mayonnaise
Summary: A short and sweet one-shot. The Phantom is looking down at Christine, who is singing onstage for the first time. It might be the prolouge for an angst fic I'm writing. Please read and review!


**The Angel's Lullaby**

**By: Moojuice Nne of the Mayonaisse**

This is a nice-little one-shot. I would have let this one go without an explanation, but I realized that some people might have trouble understanding this. So, let me explain: the song that is in italics is **NOT **the one that Christine and the Phantom are singing. It's supposed to be what the Phantom is thinking.

With that out of the way, please read!

…

…

He stood solidly on the wooden rafters of the ceilings in the Opera House, his long black overcoat and wide-brimmed hat enabling his body to hide in the shadows of the upper part of the huge auditorium. His arms were folded patiently across his chest; he was looking at the stage almost directly below him, at a young woman who was standing on the stage, above the orchestra pit. Her head was tilted back; her long chestnut-colored hair was flowing all around her shoulders; she was singing. Her sweet, innocent, piercing voice seemed to swim around in the air of the room; it bounced off the walls, rolled over the audience, cascaded wildly through the rafters, where the onlooker was balancing on a thick wooden beam. His eyes, deep, cold, and golden, never wavered from the girl's form.

_And I'd give up forever to touch you_

_'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be_

_And I don't want to go home right now…_

As the man continued to stare at the young beauty below him, his breathing began to grow more uneven and shallow, and he had to reach out and grasp a vertically-situated rafter to keep his balance. His face, half of which was covered by a simple white mask, grew pale; the intensity in his fierce, lion-like eyes never wavered, though. His lips moved to the words that the woman was singing; he was silently singing with her, helping her through the melody.

_And all I can taste is this moment_

_And all I can breathe is your life_

_'Cause sooner or later it's over_

_I just don't want to miss you tonight…_

Her voice wound its way through the man's ears to his heart; there it stayed, a sharp, bloody barb that slipped ever deeper as her voice pushed it farther in. He kept lip-singing with her, though, even though his dark golden eyes were beginning to spill over with tears. The big, salty drops on the mask's side of his face slipped out of the eyehole, gliding down its white porcelain surface to drip onto the man's coat, or sometimes perhaps the audience. They did not notice; they were too engrossed in the woman's beautiful accent.

_And you can't fight the tears that aren't coming_

_Or the moment of truth in your lies_

_When everything feels like the movies_

_Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive…_

The woman's crystal voice began to crescendo; it seemed impossible that someone so young and frail could wield a voice so powerful that it could bring a grown man to tears. She held her small arms out to her sides; her face was beaming—she was doing it, she was actually doing it! She seemed to be commanding the musicians to play louder, to accompany her voice to greatness—before she was done with the sweet note the audience had burst into thundering applause. She took a deep, relaxing breath and whirled in a circle on her toes, bowing at the end of her small performance.

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am…_

The man in the rafters was not applauding, however; he was casually leaning against the vertical beam, his arms still folded. His face was still turned towards the girl, and his eyes were still filled with tears. His lips, though, were turned up at the sides in a small, timid smile, as if he was nervous about showing approval. The girl on the stage looked around at the audience, and then turned her head towards the doors at the sides of the seats. She stuck her lower lip out in frustration, then turned her face upwards; she appeared to be looking for someone, or something. As soon as she looked above her, the man instinctively pressed himself closer to the vertical beam, lining his body up with the wood so none could discover his hiding place.

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am…_

The actress gave up on her search and turned on her heel to run towards the rest of the cast. As soon as she reached them, they gave a collective bow; the great crimson curtain swished closed in front of them. As soon as the young singer was out of sight, the man deftly walked along the horizontal beam towards the ceiling walls. Once he got to the border of the painted mural that sprawled across the upper limit of the auditorium, the man turned and jumped nimbly down onto the edge of an empty box that was situated conveniently below the wooden beam.

In the great reception room of the Opera House, the young singer was the center of attention. Her thin arms were filled with great bouquets of fragrant flowers, and her head was barely visible amongst the blooms. She smiled and laughed as much as the others around her, but her closer friends noticed something was wrong with her eyes—they were troubled, darkened, somehow. However, she kept a cheerful disposition until she grew weary and walked off to her dressing chamber, still grinning broadly.

She opened the door to her room and, once she was safely inside, closed it with her foot. She set the bouquets on the small cot in the corner of the room, then collapsed on her real bed, heaving a heavy sigh. She buried her face in her pillow and closed her eyes, hoping for sleep.

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken…_

The masked man stepped out of the shadows in the farthest corner of the young singer's room and cautiously wound his way over to her bed, hardly making a sound. He stopped when he was standing over her. His majestic golden eyes were tearless now, and filled with a strange glow—pride, or love, or both. He placed a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder and said softly, "You made your Angel cry tonight."

The young girl's head jerked up; her clear brown eyes fixed on him and she gasped softly. "Angel! Oh, you frightened me!"

The man smiled wanly and brushed the long, dark locks of the girl's hair out of her eyes. "Shhhhh. I heard you tonight. You are getting along very well."

"I looked for you, Angel of Music! I looked and I didn't find you!" The girl tried to sit up in bed, but her Angel held her gently down with his arms. "No, no, Christine. You've had a long night; you need to get some rest. You're going to have to get used to the attention, Christine, because you're only going to get better from now on. I'm going to leave you now. We'll start lessons at the usual time tomorrow."

_…I just want you to know who I am._

The masked man began to draw himself away from his young pupil, but Christine grabbed his hand with both of hers and pulled him back. "But I'm lonely in here!" she protested. "Stay with me until I go to sleep—or sing me to sleep! Yes! Can you sing a lullaby for me, my Angel?"

The man's lips turned up in a comforting smile. "Of course, my dear," he answered.

Chrisine's features lit up. "Thank you, my Angel! Let me go and get ready!"

The young singer's teacher waited patiently until she slipped into her sleeping gown. When she was done, she pounced on the bed and allowed herself to be covered up. Snuggling into the pillows, she gazed into her master's eyes. "Angel, when will I get to see all of your face?" she asked innocently.

The man winced. "…Not for a long time, Christine," he said in a hardened, cold voice, turning away and facing the wall.

When he saw his pupil's face fall, he immediately regretted his heated mood, and he lifted her small hand and placed it on his chest.

"Feel how I breathe when I sing this song," he whispered to her. "Close your eyes and pretend you're singing it. It will help you become a better vocalist. Listen to my voice and feel the way I breathe…."

And so, the masked man, the Phantom of the Opera, began singing a quiet, soothing lullaby to his young student, his voice a deep, gentle, beautiful combination of sounds that could lull a raging beast to sleep. Christine imitated his breathing for a short time, but sank into deep exhaustion and was soon only able to faintly listen to her master's song as she approached the realm of dreams.

The Phantom's song rolled peacefully on; he was pouring his soul into his words as he gazed upon the sleeping form of Christine. As the last words of the lullaby floated into the air, the Angel of Music laid Christine's hand on her pillow. He then sat there, his golden eyes resting on his pupil, before he bent down and briefly pressed his lips on the top of her head.

_I just want you to know who I am…_

Christine's mouth twitched up in an unconscious smile.

_I just want you to know who I am…_

The Phantom got up from the edge of Christine's bed, and, looking over his shoulder at the sleeping form, sighed gently before disappearing, once again, into the shadows of the dressing room.

"Good night, Christine."

_I just want you to know who I am._

_FIN_

I wrote this _very _late at night. Despite it being extremely politically incorrect, how did you like it? Very fluffy! To me, Christine seemed to get younger as it progressed, though, so I'll just say that she's about 12 or 13 in this fanfiction. … Did you like it? If I could turn this into a longer fanfiction, would you read it? Please give me your input! I thank you for your time.

The song in italics is called "Iris" and was composed and sung by the Goo Goo Dolls.


End file.
